


the person fumbling here is me

by snoopypez



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 19:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2359829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoopypez/pseuds/snoopypez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The point was this: it was five o'clock in the morning and he had woken up before the best part of the dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the person fumbling here is me

**Author's Note:**

> originally written and posted on livejournal in 2007

It was five in the morning. He didn't understand why he was awake, what had woken him from his dreams. And they had been very nice dreams, thank you very much. Dreams where he had money, enough of it to make damn sure that he would never want for more. Dreams where he had perfect vision and dreams where he hit home run after home run. Then, of course, there was the sex. His dreams seemed to be full of _that_ pleasant activity and it wasn't as though he was complaining, he was just rather curious as to why his libido suddenly decided to go into overdrive.

None of that was the point, however. The point was this: it was five o'clock in the morning and Ray had woken up before the best part of the dream -- erm -- came, and he was left staring at the slowly dawning light from the window in hopes that it would show the reason for this sudden insomnia.

*

Ray Kowalski needed coffee. Or, actually, he needed _more_ coffee. The cup he had earlier had been way too weak and he kind of felt like he would pass out on his paperwork any second. It was the natural progression of things when a guy only got about three hours of sleep.

It seemed as though all of the freaky cases that Fraser had led him on completely disappeared when Fraser had returned to Canada. Normally this was good; if Ray was going to risk his life, he wanted it to be over usual police stuff, not a stolen shoe that connected to a crooked preschool teacher that had a thing for kidnapping wolves or whatever wacko tried to mug Fraser that week.

But there were times when Ray missed always having something to work on. Something that wasn’t paperwork. Something that would _keep him awake_.

Francesca proved herself to be Ray’s favorite person of the morning by placing a hot mug of coffee beside his head where it lay on the desktop. He peeled the paper off his cheek and shot her a grateful look.

“Hey, have you seen my brother?” Frannie asked, shifting the folders she was holding from one arm to the other. “He’s gotta sign something.”

And just like that, Ray’s mood dropped. See, recently his dreams had taken a turn for the _insane_ ; the usual women he dreamed about slowly transitioning into...someone else. So the honest answer to her question would be that yes, he had seen her brother a lot, usually in some state of undress and always when he was asleep.

“No.” It came out a little harsher than he meant. Frannie rolled her eyes.

“Geez, what crawled up your nose?”

And instead of letting her flounce away, Ray opened his mouth and snapped, “Nothing, okay? Me and your _bro_ have our issues, stay out of it.” It wasn’t true; the issues were his own and they were new but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

Little did he know, when Frannie blinked and stomped away, that what he said would be his downfall.

Because whenever he passed her after that, she would mention things about how _happy_ her ma was that Ray and her brother were getting along, and how _proud_ she herself was of them doing something she never imagined possible.

“What’s that, Frannie?”

“Maturing,” she answered, cheeky smile in place.

Which, ha ha, right? But it was hard to keep the truce going when Ray was kinda starting to suspect that the sudden compadre-whatever with Vecchio was the reason his sex-starved brain was backfiring on him.

It was after he woke from the third dream in a row, all in the _same night_ even, in which Vecchio had a starring role that Ray broke. Still half-asleep, he flung an arm out towards the phone and somehow managed to dial the correct numbers.

“You— _you_ need to get the hell out of my dreams!” His voice still rough with sleep, his brain was more so; it was possible he was actually only saying the words in his head but he was so tired that he didn’t care.

There was a silence on the other end of the line that hinted that perhaps he had dialed the wrong number, or the words really were just in his head. Then, finally –

“And you had to tell me this at three in the morning?”

Ray sat up, ran his hand over his eyes, suddenly a little more awake. “Vecchio?” He had reacted so quickly that he hadn’t really given any thought to Vecchio actually _answering_. Shit.

“Kowalski, what are you _doing_?”

Finally, Ray’s hand obeyed his brain and he slammed the phone down and started the process of hating himself a little.

He tried to avoid the other man after that, which was kinda tricky. Francesca was not letting up with her guilt trips and sisterly lectures, and after that embarrassing phone call, Vecchio seemed to delight in bugging Ray even more than he normally did.

A few days after The Phone Incident, Vecchio was lounging at his desk and not doing any actual work when Ray arrived. As ignoring him had become habit, Ray went right to the filing cabinet.

“Frannie wants us to talk,” Vecchio said, tossing the toy soccer ball from palm to palm. Ray kind of thought the noise it made as it hit his hands was mocking him. You know, somehow.

“Yeah? What would I have to talk to you about?” Ray didn’t look up from the mess of files in front of him; where was the one he needed? Mrs Wilkinson’s dog couldn’t wait to be found forever, and wasn’t it sad that _this_ was the case he was working on?

He was so busy looking busy, he almost managed to ignore the amused, undignified snort Vecchio made.

“Well, you _did_ call me in the middle of the night and demand I stay out of your _dreams_. You tell me.”

That was Ray’s cue to slam the cabinet drawer shut and resist saying something like ‘say it louder, I don’t think they heard you in Canada’. That would be below him.

“Yeah, well, you...” Ray trailed off; unable to think of anything beyond ‘you have no hair!’ to say. And that was just _lame_. He needed so badly to get a full night’s sleep.

He settled for glaring, as if that was some sort of genius comeback and, finding the file he needed, decided to leave before anything else humiliating happened.

Pivoting on his heel to make his way out of the bullpen, he passed Frannie. The look on her face clearly said ‘what the hell is your problem?’ but Ray didn’t know if it was directed towards him or her brother. Probably both.

With the dreams continuing nightly, like an annoying late night talk show with sex, Ray was just that more determined to avoid Vecchio. Of course, that meant that Vecchio was in his face more often than usual, as if the man had a third sense that told him when Ray didn’t want him around. Everywhere Ray turned, it was Vecchio’s smug, stupid face smirking at him, asking how he slept and would he like a bedtime story read over the phone?

“You look horrible,” was Vecchio’s greeting of choice that day. “Sleepless night again?”

“Fuck off, Vecchio.” Ray couldn’t even muster very much energy in that. He stared at the phone, willing it to ring so that he could maybe for once work on a case that didn’t involve lost animals.

At the other end of his desk, Vecchio sat down as though he was welcome and said with a snap of his fingers, “Abducted by aliens again, only this time they left the probe up your ass. I’m guessing that’s what happened.”

And wow, Ray was regretting having let _that_ topic come up in Vecchio’s presence. Didn’t the guy ever forget anything?

“Were you late night calling everyone you know?” The smirk on his face made Ray want to hit him. “Or am I the only one who gets that honor?”

He couldn’t take it. Ray stood and left.

As he entered the men’s room, he figured that really, he did the mature thing. Not rising to the bait, that was a good thing, right? Sure, he didn’t really do it to be mature, he did it because he _wanted_ to fight, wanted to land a good punch or shove and connect with Vecchio’s skin, the skin that he kept touching in his sleep.

So it was with perfect horrible timing that Vecchio pushed open the door and said, “What the hell, Kowalski? All that twirling and whirling rattle your brain _and_ your vocal chords?”

And that did it. Vecchio was asking for it, both literally and figuratively, following Ray and nagging him and Ray was so _tired_. He pushed Vecchio against the door and god, his breath was already hitching and why did this turn him on?

“Y'know what, okay, you win. Fine. You want to know what's going on.”

Vecchio gave a nod, an um-yeah-you-moron nod that Ray was completely familiar with.

So without further ado, Ray grabbed Vecchio’s hand and pressed it against the hard-on that was growing increasingly more obvious. Because he figured – why not? This was the best answer he knew how to give.

A second that seemed longer passed before -- an unreadable look in his eyes -- Vecchio pushed away, was out the door and down the hall and it was only then that Ray realised he wasn’t going to be able to wake up from this one. He was already too fucking awake.

After that, Vecchio avoided Ray just as much as Ray avoided Vecchio, and Francesca seemed close to giving up on them. Ray didn’t figure he’d be that lucky, of course, but he had hope.

Somehow a week went by with no contact between them. Francesca kept glowering at Ray whenever he’d duck into an interrogation room or the bathroom when he saw Vecchio coming.

Sure, things were uncomfortable at work, but Ray thought he could get used to it. Of course, then Frannie told him that she had called _Fraser_ and told on them like a kindergartner. Apparently he said something about reaching an accord, but who really knew, considering Frannie was the messenger.

Then Welsh sent them on a stakeout together and both Ray and Vecchio glared Frannie as if it was her fault; it would have been funny had it not been so very awkward.

The way Vecchio dressed – fine Italian shoes and tailored suits and that overcoat – did not match how Vecchio drove. He drove recklessly, stupidly but well, like he and the car were connected in some weird bond.

Ray found it kinda hot.

Sitting there in Vecchio’s precious car, trying to keep his eyes both open and trained on the warehouse in front of them, Ray wished he was anywhere else.

“So.”

When Vecchio broke the silence, Ray almost cringed before he answered brilliantly, “Ah. Yep.”

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for the last week,” Vecchio said, his voice oddly quiet. Ray turned his gaze but Vecchio was staring straight ahead. “Least this time you can’t hide in the bathroom.”

Fingers tapping out a busy rhythm on his knee, Ray replied, “Well, y’know. When you gotta go...” Vecchio’s small smile gave Ray the incentive to go on. “Plus I kinda thought you’d wanna kick my ass.”

It turned out that he thought wrong, because when Vecchio actually turned to Ray, the look on his face was a different kind of serious than Ray had ever seen and his eyes weren’t so unreadable now. He never even looked like that in Ray’s dreams, and that was a sappy train of thought.

“So...is this a thing?” Ray asked, because Vecchio had never spoken but it was pretty clear what was meant by the silence. He fully expected Vecchio to backtrack here, so the vague questioning was safe. But.

“Yeah,” Vecchio said, and when his tongue brushed over his lips nervously Ray reached out to grasp his tie and tug him closer.

*

So the stakeout was sort of a waste in that nothing happened with the suspects. Which was a good thing really, since Ray didn’t feel like losing his job because he was busy living his dreams in the front seat of a Riviera. Afterwards, back to the 27 they went.

Somewhat awkwardly, Ray started, “So, uh, guess we can tell Frannie—”

“I am not telling my sister what just happened!” The horrified look on Vecchio’s face was enough to kill the awkward on Ray’s part at least, and he grinned.

“Tell Frannie that we _talked_. That we’re buddies now and she can stop with the psycho routine. Of course, if you want, _I_ can tell her the graphic details, make it easier on you...”

He laughed, ducked his head out of the way of Vecchio’s hand. Then, still grinning, he opened the door to the station.

They walked towards the bullpen silently, resolutely not glancing in the other’s direction as if doing so would give everything away. Francesca, naturally, was at the other end of the hall and when she saw them she stomped over, hands waving in the air.

“I don’t believe this! You two are impossible!” She poked her finger against Ray’s chest, which, really, ouch. “You guys’ve been _fighting_ again!”

Apparently they hadn’t straightened themselves up as much as they hoped. Vecchio tried to get a word in that no, they were just trying to tell her – but it was too late. Frannie was babbling on and on about how disappointing they were as human beings and she’d had it up to _here_ so there was nothing else for them but this—

And before Ray knew it, he was shut in the darkness of the supply closet with Vecchio bitching beside him like he didn’t realise the opportunity here.

But Ray did, and Ray was sometimes very good at sharing.


End file.
